Preface: Epitaph
The chilly night of autumn.
My mother, who had never hugged me before, suddenly called me to her side and said softly: "... Do you hear it? The maple tree's sobs, the maple tree's sorrow... The maple tree said, don't forget the resentment."
Mother gently tucked the hair behind my ears and put her palms close to my empty pupils.
"Maple also said..." My mother whispered in my ear, "You are not my daughter."
Intention: